The First Lie
by Patripatan
Summary: SPOILERS:: for Deathly Hallows.  A.S. Potter and S. Malfoy.  What happens after, mostly about friendship although there is some slash and het, for those of you who need warnings.
1. Chapter 1

A play on the epilogue, because I cannot believe the Malfoys came out of that war with their reputation shiny and intact. People always need someone to blame.

The First Lie

Because mother had told him to use her name.

Father never spoke on it, never mentioned the past. Only when they'd stood on the platform as the train pulled up in smoke and grinding gears. "Keep quiet," he'd hissed. "Say nothing, stay low. That way is best." And mother had gripped his shoulder once, hard, and smiled her tight small smile.

"Better if he'd been born a squib," father had said when the letter came, with its crest and its wax seal and its promises of something more. His father had torn it into confetti and touched it with the tip of his wand, made it burn and curl and die. But more had come, and father had locked himself in his study. Mother had taken him aside and told him he was going to go to school and instead of being exciting it had been terribly frightening, like a curse that couldn't be lifted.

Around him noise rose as families kissed each other goodbye, brushed tears small as diamonds from their eyes. Father had nodded once to a short myopic man, and then steered him away to another carriage. Mother pressed a wrapped gift to him, and Scorpius knew it would hold chocolates and liquorice.

"Now listen, do what your father says and hopefully you won't draw any attention." She looked left and right, as if she were scared that some one might be eavesdropping, and then she'd kissed his cheek quickly and smiled.

And then they were gone and the train had shrieked as it pulled away. Scorpius sat alone in a compartment and pressed against the back of his seat. Voices from the carriage passage reverberated outside; shouts and cheers and laughter. It reminded him a little of the one time his father had taken him to see his grandparents and outside the room-_cell_-there'd been jeers and catcalls. They'd been thin and proud, and his grandmother had told him to be a good boy and his grandfather had asked him what kind of spells he could do.

And Scorpius had not been able to answer because no-one had given him a wand – not until a few weeks ago when his father had sifted through the remains of the family vault and dug up the one that now sat in his trunk.

"But," Scorpius had said, still holding his letter. "They say you can bring a pet – like a rat or an owl-"

"No." His father had turned away. "Familiars only make you vulnerable."

And that was that.

Scorpius drew his knees to his chest and hugged them close.

The door slammed open and a dark-haired boy, scruffy and about his age, peered in. "'Lo." He glanced around the empty compartment. "Mind?" he said, as he settled himself on the opposite seat. "You know what brothers are like, well, older ones anyway." He kicked at his trunk.

No, he didn't. Scorpius shrugged. "Yeah, they suck."

"Albus," said the boy. He grinned shyly.

"Scorpius." And then he remembered. "Gamp."

"Hey," said Albus, "We're probably related."  
--


	2. Chapter 2

Draco was unbuttoning the dark coat he'd worn to the station, finally able to relax now that he was back home.

"You should not have been so hard on him." Mariet slumped down on the outside bench and kicked off her shoes.

"He'll deal with worse once they realise he's a Malfoy."

Mariet grimaced, and lit a dark thin cigarette with her wand. "I know. Poor boy. I wish there was some way to spare him that." She sighed and smoke curled up in the cold air.

"It's a filthy habit," Draco said. "I do wish you wouldn't." He took a seat on an iron chair by the little table where they sometimes ate breakfast, when the weather was good.

Mariet put her bare feet against his thigh and Draco pressed his fingers against the arch of one foot, making her shiver. "Was that Potter, the one you nodded to?"

"Indeed. The saviour himself." There was just a trace of bitterness in his voice. It had faded with the years.

"You should invite them here someday. You do work with the man after all, and now our children will be at school together."

In answer Draco pulled a face. "I see enough of him in the department. Besides, it would be a disaster. I doubt he'd even accept."

Mariet shrugged. "Well, invite someone. I'm going out of my mind here in London. Dreary city." She curled her toes, inched her feet higher. She liked the slow ticklish stroke of Draco's fingers against her skin.

"We could take advantage of the house being quiet and empty and child-free," he said, stroking higher up, just ghosting his fingers over her ankle.

"As if Scorpius makes any noise. The boy lives in the library."

"I know, it's shocking. If he gets sorted into Ravenclaw I shall have to disown him." He said it with a smile though, and Mariet stubbed out the little bidi and pulled her feet from Draco's lap.

"You English and your loyalties." A flick of her wand and the ashtray was gone, the last traces of smoke vanished. "Come. Inside then." She smiled slyly. "We have an empty house to take advantage of, _ja_?"

--

"What's that you got?" Albus pointed to the gift sitting next to Scorpius – it was wrapped with burgundy paper and was about the size of a small book.

"Ah, my _ma_ packed it, chocolates and stuff." Scorpius caught the way his new friend's eyes lit up. "Here, We can share it if you like." He tore the wrapping free and lifted the lid. Inside were several black sticks and a variety of small chocolates individually wrapped in gold foil. He passed one of the sticks to Albus who eyed it with evident intrigue.

"What's this then?" Albus nibbled the one end cautiously and then grimaced.

"Liquorice witches," Scorpius said, frowning.

Albus dangled the stick and then looked up at Scorpius. "I think you got conned. This isn't what liquorice is supposed to taste like. My parents buy me liquorice wands all the time and really they're not horrid like this."

There was a moment of silence before Scorpius snatched the liquorice stick back and shoved it into the box. He could feel his ears flaming. "'S not horrid," he muttered as he stared down at the box, but Albus was already at the compartment door, peering down the narrow passage.

"James – he's my brother – he says there's this witch with a tea trolley and she had all kinds of really great things, like cauldron cakes and stuff and my dad gave me money for the train so I can buy us some stuff and you don't have to worry." He glanced back at Scorpius. "Your parents probably just made a mistake – packed the wrong thing or something. There she is! James was right, if you can believe it." His voice faded as he ran up to the tea trolley.

Scorpius looked down at the shredded paper and tried to close it back around his gift box. He could feel his eyes burning. It was spoiled, his gift wasn't perfect any more, and that Albus boy had called his mother's gift to him a mistake. He wished he hadn't opened it here in front of him, hadn't offered to share. He shoved the box into his trunk and hunched his shoulders.

--

If father had told him they were going to have to ride in boats to the castle, Scorpius doubted that he would have eaten quite as much. James had returned with an armful of sweets – chocolate frogs, blood pops, cauldron cakes and an endless assortment of strange and wonderful confections – and together they'd made a sizeable dent in the spoils.

The boat lurched over the wavelets and Scorpius gripped the side tighter, his knuckles white in the chill air. His stomach seemed to be lodged in his throat and he didn't talk, just nodded at Albus's excited chatter.

Everything was loud here, and Scorpius wished he was back home in the London house. When it was dark his mother would stand outside with her tea and her bidi and stare at the few stars that could still be seen, smoke trailing from the rolled cigarette between her fingers. Father would watch her through the windows and Scorpius would watch them both over the top of his book. Mother would love it here - the sky was a river of stars, more than he'd ever seen before. They reflected back at him from the ink-black lake.

"Almost there!" Albus said, and the boat rocked as he jumped in his enthusiasm. Scorpius swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded. The castle was a dark turreted outline against the indigo sky.

The boats docked, and a small man waited for them, led them into a Hall with a ceiling of sky. Scorpius had barely time to marvel at it before he realised that the small wizard – Professor Flitwick - was calling out their names – in alphabetical order. His insides twisted as the last of the G's were called, didn't dare look up at Albus's face.

"Malfoy, Scorpius!"

He shuffled up to the chair, where Professor Flitwick held a battered hat. Still with his head bowed, he took his seat, and felt the soft weight as the hat was placed on his head.

_I can see you have your father's magical skill. Hmmm. Bookish boy, aren't you. Unusual for a Malfoy, that...perhaps Ravenclaw?_

Scorpius grinned in agreement. Because knowledge is power, he thought.

_Ah_. "Slytherin!"

There was the slightest patter of applause. It died down even before the professor had whipped the hat from his head.

He was whisked toward his table, where a tall boy led him to his place, and then everyone's attention was already on the next Sorting.

"Potter, Albus-Severus!"

The boy was barely in the seat, the hat just touching his ears when it yelled "Hufflepuff!"

"What?" said Albus, far too loudly in the silent hall, and then the students broke into applause, the loudest cheers coming from the table under the yellow and black flag with its badger crest.

Scorpius frowned – his father hadn't even mentioned Hufflepuff – perhaps it was a new house? The student next to him, a sloe-eyed boy whose hair was a little too long and just touched his collar, leaned close to him and whispered. "Well, I didn't see that one coming. A Potter in Hufflepuff, that's going to be one for the books. He must be a desperate little toe-rag."

"Desperate?" Scorpius didn't want to show his ignorance but he couldn't help being curious.

"Yeah, always wanting to fit in, blend in with the crowd. You know the type." The boy sneered. It was a very good sneer, and Scorpius guessed that he'd practised it for a long time before coming to Hogwarts.

Albus _had_ been rather eager to share his sweets with a complete stranger, Scorpius mused. Perhaps the boy was right. He turned slightly on his bench and held out his hand. "Scor-" he began.

"Yeah, Malfoy, we saw. Don't think that means we're all going to hang on your every word." He didn't shake and Scorpius deftly smoothed a strand of his pale hair behind one ear. "Augustin Imago." the boy said, as if he had taken pity on Scorpius's faltered handshake, then turned his attention back to the sorting hat. "Oh look, a Zabini. Bet you a galleon he's going to Slytherin. His sister's here." Augustin nodded further up the table to where a girl with charcoal skin and almond eyes was sitting. Her hair was cropped close to her skull and she surveyed the students around her with a calm, somewhat predatory gaze.

"Slytherin!" the hat announced, and a small boy with the same colouring slipped down from the sorting chair and strolled to the table with a self-satisfied smile.

He was the last student to be sorted and the headmistress gave a short speech, half of which Scorpius missed. The night passed in a yawning rush, and when Scorpius finally followed the prefects towards the Slytherin dorm, he was bleary-eyed and so tired that he stumbled on the stairs and almost sent the other two first years tumbling one after the other.

Not a particularly wonderful start to the year, especially as from then on Zabini and Imago did their level best to ignore him. They talked softly, and he knew he'd heard his surname whispered once. Scorpius dug through his trunk, looking for his box, and tried not to think about his new housemates.

In the darkness of the dormitory, in a strange bed, Scorpius sucked on a salty liquorice witch and wished he was back home.  
--


	3. Chapter 3

Scorpius trailed after his housemates to breakfast, determined to memorise the way. He had the feeling that no-one was going to go out of their way to help him if he got lost. Imago and Zabini had barely acknowledged him that morning, and their dark heads were close together as they walked ahead of him. Scorpius was glad he'd taken a book with him to read at the breakfast table.

Only when everyone had shuffled into the hall, yawning and chattering, did Scorpius realise that his table had the least students. They were also the quietest, the other houses rowdy and boisterous as they took their seats. He caught a glimpse of Albus at the Hufflepuff table, but the boy didn't see him.

The flutter of owls as the birds poured into the hall, dropping parcels and letters before the students, distracted Scorpius from watching Albus. Mother's owl swooped before him, dropping a small wrapped package into his hands. There was no note, but the wrapping smelled like smoke and home. Inside was a a packet of _Oma's_ homemade _stroopwafels_, and Scorpius smiled for the first time since he'd reached Hogwarts.

--

The next time Scorpius saw Albus the dark-haired boy was huddled in conversation with a girl with unruly hair gathered in two plaits.. She was wearing a Gryffindor crest and as Scorpius drew nearer he caught the tail-end of the conversation.

"-not so bad, I'm sure your dad won't mind Hufflepuff," she was saying. "I mean, you could have done worse. I'm sure there've been Hufflepuffs that have done great things. I know mum packed me A History so I'll look it up for you-" She broke off as Scorpius approached, and gave him a wavering smile before turning back to Albus. "Look, I'll see you in Potions later. And Herbology won't be so bad, at least Uncle Neville will be there, so you'll know someone."

"We've also got Herbology now," Scorpius said. "So he'll know me too."

"Um, right, exactly." The girl patted Albus on the shoulder. "I've got to run, don't want to be late for my first Transfiguration class." She jogged off, her plaits unravelling.

"Hi," Scorpius said, once she was gone, and fiddled with his sleeves.

"'Lo." Albus frowned. "Why'd you say your name was Gamp, if it's actually Malfoy?"

"My mother told me to." And it wasn't exactly a lie, although Scorpius felt slightly guilty at pinning all the blame on her, even though he knew she'd probably find it amusing. "It's her name."

"You're very odd," Albus pointed out as they walked toward Greenhouse One. "Parents that can't decide what their surname is, sweets that are actually salty..." He shook his head. "What's next?"

Scorpius shrugged and felt the tightness in his chest relax. At least Albus didn't seem to be holding it against him.

--

Draco heard him coming before he saw him; Potter had never learned to do anything quietly, it seemed. He pulled a file from the teetering stack on the corner of his desk and tried to pretend that he wasn't really hiding behind it.

"Malfoy!"

So much for that. He dropped the file to the desk top with an exaggerated sigh, and stared pointedly at Potter. "And what brings our illustrious saviour here to Transportation? Are we going to engage in friendly banter and reminisce about the past, while scores of bejewelled house elves compose hymns to your greatness?"

Potter squinted. "What? No. Draco, you do realise you get weirder every year. You need to get out more." He tossed down the morning edition of the Prophet. "I came to ask you if you've seen this."

The headline proclaimed France's win over Germany in the Quidditch World Cup. Draco resisted the urge to start pounding his head against the desk. "Fascinating," he drawled. "I had heard."

"Not that." Potter jabbed at headline further down the page. "That."

_American Witch Trials. "It's Salem all over again," says US Wizarding President Gambol._

Draco pulled the paper closer, and read the rest of the brief article. He frowned and handed the Prophet back to Potter. The small headline flickered, and the monochrome image of Gambol twisted his hands. It might only be happening in America, but things had a way of filtering to their shores. He shivered and then glanced at Potter. "That is not good news. The Death Penalty for suspected illicit witchcraft?"

"They've made it mandatory to register all witches and wizards. Muggle-borns are being removed from their parents for 'national safety'."

"How do you know that – it wasn't in the paper?"

"Uh, forget you heard that." Potter pushed his spectacles up his nose. "Um." He changed the subject. "Actually, I really came to ask you about something else." He paused and when Draco said nothing, he cleared his throat and continued. "Uh, Al sent us an owl, seems he's making friends with your Scorpius." He attempted a smile, it was crooked and didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hope they make a better go of it than we did."

The leather chair creaked as Draco leaned back and regarded Harry Potter. Amazingly enough, it seemed the man was making a genuine attempt at friendliness. "Yes, We've heard about the blossoming friendship. I was hoping that if I ignored it, it would go away."

"You haven't changed, have you? How come everyone else can grow up and get on with their lives and you manage to be the same childish git you've always been?"

Draco didn't let himself smirk, Potter was so easy to rile. "Albus Severus? What were you thinking, Potter. The poor child, saddled with such an unfortunate name."

"Draco." Potter looked stunned, snapped out of his rant before he could even really get into full swing. "You're a fine one to talk. What relative died so you could name your son Scorpius?" Then he waved the Prophet. "Oh forget it. Albus says Scorpius invited him round to visit during the holidays. I need to check this with you, Ginny's worried."

"What, that I'm going to sacrifice your son on my private altar?" He raised one eyebrow.

"Close. No, really, Al seems keen, and I just want to know if Scorpius had run this by you first, I mean it just doesn't seem like the kind of thing you'd allow-"

That was enough, Draco stood, cutting Potter short. "Strange as it may appear, I don't actually mind if my son makes friends at school. Your son is welcome in my home."

Perhaps realising his _faux pas_, Potter stammered. "Oh, okay, just checking that it wasn't a problem." He turned to leave, and trotted past the other desks. Draco waited until he'd reached the last desk before calling out to him. "Oh, and Potter?"

The man turned. Looked back, his brow furrowed. "What?"

"Hufflepuff? Really? Tsk tsk."

---


	4. Chapter 4

Things had improved once Slytherin House saw Scorpius in the second flying lesson. He might not be allowed to fly in the London house, but he had spent a good part of his childhood on _Oma's_ property near Berkel-Enschot, The Gamp cousins were all older than he was, and he'd had to work hard to keep up with them on the makeshift quidditch pit behind the dog runs. It helped that it was the only time his father seemed pleased with him.

He felt the thrum of magic under his palm, just as the broom leaped upward at his command. This lesson Madam Hooch was going to let them do more than just hover in place, and she'd set markers on the field so that they could race heats in groups of four. Albus was already hovering, eager to go, and Scorpius grinned as he flung one leg over and let the magic surge, raising the school broom. He darted upward and a Gryffindor girl and Ravenclaw boy both rose easily alongside him. All four of them seemed equally matched.

"Right, it's to the end and back. No tricks or other stupidity. I've no time to go rushing anyone off to the infirmary today." Hooch eyed them, making sure the four were hovering at the scarf she'd used to mark the start. "Ready then, one, two-" She blasted her whistle, and it shrieked in his ears as Scorpius let the broom lunge forward, dropping low and ignoring the cold slap of the wind in his face.

A Hufflepuff scarf, yellow and black, lay as a bright beacon in the grass, and Scorpius looped at the marker, spinning as he righted himself, and passed the three others who were lagging a few seconds behind him. Albus's face passed in a white flash and Scorpius grinned.

"Nice flying, Mr Malfoy," was all Hooch said as he brought his broom down. He dismounted just as Albus reached the finish, his cheeks flushed with cold and exhilaration. Madam Hooch was already lining up the next four and Scorpius leaned on his broom to watch them.

"Nice flying is right." Scorpius turned at the voice. Pascal Zabini stood behind him. Imago was already in the air, racing against the others. "You'll be going for quidditch try outs next year," he said. "My sister will want to have a word with you tonight about your practice schedule for the holiday. She's short a decent beater, so she'll probably have you working on your aim." He mounted his broom, and Scorpius turned to see Augustin coasting in in third place.

Augustin shrugged as he dismounted. "Flying's not my thing. Seems like it's yours though. Should have seen that one, actually." He sighed. "I can't wait for this lesson to be over, complete waste of my time and abilities."

Scorpius took a chance, since it seemed that the two were now at least speaking at him, if not to him. "What would you rather be doing?"

Augustin rolled down his sleeves, and set his robe straight before answering. "Well, Divination for a start. Hate the fact that we have to wait till next year. Even Transfiguration would be better than this." He scowled as the younger Zabini swerved down towards them. "At least you and Pascal are in your element – Cleo will be happy."

Cleo was Pascal's sister and she ruled the Slytherin common room. She might only be third year, but Scorpius had seen even older students listen to her commands. Well, they weren't so much commands as suggestions, it was just that it was very hard to ignore her.

Out of the corner of his eye, Scorpius saw Albus approaching him. Augustin smirked. "Oh look, the Potterpuff approaches. Have fun with your boyfriend." He hurried over to Zabini just as Albus drew up.

"Hi – Scorp – that was great. You never said you could fly – my dad used to play quidditch a whole lot, he was like a seeker and really good, my Uncle Ron says, and he taught me, but anyway, yeah – cool flying."

"Um, thanks." Scorpius could feel his face was still red, both from Zabini's taunt and now from the praise.

"Your dad teach you?"

He nodded. "Him, and my cousins; my oldest plays for her local team, so she's always giving me pointers and stuff."

"Oh hey!" Albus interrupted, pointing to the sky. "Look at Rosie go. Ha! She's doing all right." Scorpius looked up; it was the girl with the hair in plaits. She was whizzing along, and it was only pure luck that had her staying a straight line, as her eyes were tight shut.

"Rose! Look where you're going,"Albus yelled, although his voice was drowned out by the piercing shriek of Hooch's whistle. The girl's eyes snapped open and she jerked her handle up, bringing the broom to a sudden and complete halt.

"Do come down, Miss Weasley. The land is your friend," Hooch said, and the white faced girl nosed her broom down.

The girl trotted over to Albus, trailing her broom behind her. "You know," she said. "I think I see mum's point."

"What? Books over brooms? Don't be going soft, Rose." Albus grinned. "She's outnumbered anyway."

"Well, books are good for something," she said. "I looked it up for you. Teddy's mum was in Hufflepuff, and everyone knows she was a war hero." She dropped the broom at her feet and gave it a disgusted look, before glancing back up at Albus. "So next time James makes one of his stupid comments, you can tell him that."

Albus shrugged. "I don't care about it anyway. I like Hufflepuff."

Hooch blew the whistle again, making the three of them jump. Albus grinned. "By the way, Scorp, My mum and dad say it's okay for me to come to yours for Boxing Day."

Scorpius felt a small thrill of excitement at the thought. He'd never spent the Christmas hols with someone his own age. Uncle Gregory and Aunt Pansy had no children, and the family never went to Holland for Christmas. He knew why of course, but it made for a very subdued time. He smiled. "Great. It'll be fun, you'll see," he promised, as much to assure himself as Albus.

--

Draco stood outside the bedroom door, leaning against the wall for just a second, as if he could somehow summon strength form touching something solid and immoveable. After a deep breath, he pushed open the door.

Mariet was still lying in bed, the blankets pulled up high, almost covering her head. Draco stepped closer. The room smelled of unwashed hair and body, stale sheets, despair. He wrinkled his nose, and then sat down gingerly on the edge of bed. His wife made no move, and Draco touched her shoulder. "Mariet?"

She made no answer, but a slight shrug of her shoulder let Draco knew that she'd heard him. He straightened. "I'm going to be late back tonight. Kingsley's agreed to issue me another visitor's pass, and there's paperwork I need to do. Release forms, and agreements." He paused, and pulled his wand free.

A few freshening charms scoured the bedclothes and made the place smell less like a hospice ward. Mariet paid him no attention. He placed a small vial of Calming Draught on the bedside table, next to the others. They remained unopened, and Draco suppressed a sigh of irritation. He shook his head and left the room, closing the door on his wife.

Downstairs he packed away the extra blankest and with a flick of his wand, the sleeper couch folded back into place. He grimaced, and left for work with the faint hope that by the time he got home, Mariet would be in a better mood. They couldn't afford another consultation with the St Mungo's specialists.

--

"You look miserable, dear." Narcissa said. They were in a small cell that the Ministry used as a visitor's room.

"It's nothing." Draco said.

Lucius raised one eyebrow, and glanced across at his wife. They were both dressed in the Azkaban prisoners uniforms, but despite that, Narcissa sat with her head held high. Faint frown lines marred her brow as she watched her only son in concern. "How is young Scorpius doing?" she asked, to change the subject. "Does he like Hogwarts?"

"He's doing fine, if you call befriending one of the illustrious Potter brats fine." Draco sighed, and regretted snapping at his mother.

"You should encourage it," Lucius said. "It's one way of improving the Malfoy name."

"We have no name." Draco stood. "And I have no idea what's going to happen when you are released- where you're going to stay – even what clothes you'll wear. The Ministry took everything."

"The Manor?" Narcissa half-rose in her seat. "I thought you said you would be able to get it back? It was Black family property after all."

"I said I_ thought_ I could organise it." Draco shoved his hands in his trench-coat pockets and paced the small room. "Turns out I have even less clout than I hoped."

"We could live in the London house with you, for the interim," Lucius said.

"What interim, father?" Draco whirled round to face Lucius. "They've made damn sure that if we want anything, we'll have to go crawling to the Ministry for it, begging like dogs." There was no way they would be able to put up his parents – not with Mariet and her moods. There wasn't enough room anyway, he thought. Although he could clear out the small room he used for a study and put Scorpius up in there. Draco waved the thought away.

"What about Mariet's family?" His mother enquired. "The Gamps always did well for themselves. Perhaps you could explain the situation to them...?"

"I'll still be crawling to someone, won't I?" Draco said savagely. "And besides, I didn't marry Mariet so that I could pick my way through her family fortune."

"Whatever did you marry her for then?" Narcissa said with an arch smile. "There's weak blood in the Gamp line, you do know?"

Draco stilled. He stared at his mother, who only met his gaze with calm regard. "I'll make a plan with my house," he said, finally. "At the very least it will be better than Azkaban."

--

A/N Sorry about the delay in posting. Thanks for the reviews. :)


	5. Chapter 5

Scorpius sat with the letter in his hands and stared at it blankly. He'd known, when the owl had arrived without a package. He pushed his plate away, leaving most of his food untouched. He didn't want to open the letter here, not around his housemates. He stood and slipped the unopened envelope into his pocket.

"You all right there, Malfoy?" Pascal Zabini had taken an almost proprietary interest in him once he'd discovered that Scorpius was no slouch on a broom.

"I'm fine, thanks. Just not feeling hungry this morning. I-I think I left my Potions textbook in my trunk." Scorpius ducked his head and walked as quickly as he could from the Great Hall, down the steps and deep into the dank heart of the dungeons.

"Dominion," he whispered before a stretch of blank wall, and then slipped into the common room when the door appeared. A few older students were still there, all busy writing out last-minute essays, and they barely paused as he entered.

Alone in the first year boy's dormitory, he pulled the folded parchment from his robes and cracked the wax seal. His father's writing. Scorpius sighed. Mother had had one of her turns again. He crunched the stiff parchment and rubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand. A horrible part of him was glad that he was at school. The last time he'd been too young for Hogwarts, and he'd had to tiptoe around the house, not allowed to disturb his mother, while his father had spent most of his time either at work, or hiding in his study. Scorpius had eaten toast with jam for a week, until his father had seemed to realise that someone actually had to cook. After the one dismal dinner they'd shared, Scorpius had been put off fried egg for a lifetime.

He smoothed the letter against his knee, rereading the last lines: _In good news however, your grandparents will be joining us come Christmas. I would suggest, in this case, that you cancel your invitation to Potter._ Scorpius scowled and cast Incendio, watching his father's elegant script curl and blacken, the words eaten away. He'd just pretend he'd never received his father's letter, that's all. Dusting the fine ash from his school robes, Scorpius left.

Outside the common room door a small dark figure was leaning against the wall. Albus straightened as the door slid shut behind Scorpius.

"What are you doing down here, Albus?" Scorpius kept his head low, hoping that his eyes didn't look as red and puffy as they felt.

"I followed you dow – well actually, I'll let you in on a secret – all the Hufflepuffs know where Slytherin's common room is. Anyway, you looked upset. Everything okay?" Albus said, and Scorpius could hear genuine worry.

"Yeah," he said, and forced brightness into his voice. "Just realised I'd left my potion's text behind, and that old bat has it in for me."

"Rickard? Yeah, she hates everyone, doesn't she?" Albus said, as he fell into step alongside Scorpius. "James says she took ten points from Gryffindor the other day, and he wasn't even doing anything."

Privately, Scorpius thought that James' version of nothing and Professor Rickard's were probably very different, but he said nothing, letting Albus chatter on until they reached the Potion's classroom door. The Ravenclaws were already there, reading ahead in their books while they waited outside.

"Well, I'll see you after lunch – double Herbology. Uncle Nev – Professor Longbottom told me we're doing a bit of outdoor work for a change." Albus paused, then took in the bustling sharp-faced figure of Professor Rickard as she barrelled toward the Potion's Classroom. "Uh-oh, looks like I'm going to be late for Transfigurations. See you," he yelled as he took off at run up toward the stairs.

The other two Slytherins smirked as Albus bolted past them. Rickard glared down her nose, but Albus appeared not to notice. Scorpius smothered his grin as the students filed into the classroom under the Professor's watchful gaze.

--

Halloween had come, and all the students were in the Great Hall, a cornucopia of food and treats spread before them on the house tables. The air was shrill with chatter and the teachers up on the head table were talking and laughing like children themselves. Scorpius rather thought that they might not be drinking pumpkin juice. His parents got like that sometimes.

"Hey, Malfoy."

Scorpius looked up to see Cleo watching him from further up the table. She'd taken him aside earlier in the week and instructed him to start coming to Quidditch practise – not to fly, but to watch the plays, and learn what it was she expected of him. She had held his shoulder the whole time, and her nails were sharp enough to feel through his school robes. "Yes," he said rather uncomfortably.

Cleo grinned. "There's a party after this, you want to come, firsty?"

Scorpius knew all about the party, everyone in Slytherin who was anyone was invited. That Cleo was extending the offer to him was odd. Augustin elbowed him in the ribs. "Accept, idiot," he hissed.

"I- uh, yeah, that would be great."

Cleo's smile widened, and Scorpius shifted in his seat. Pascal's sister was downright terrifying, in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. He grabbed at his glass of pumpkin juice and gulped the contents down. When he looked up again, Cleo was talking to someone else, her predatory gaze no longer on him.

"What did you do to get invited to that?" Augustin said. "She didn't even invite her own brother."

"I'm right here next to you and can hear every word you say, Imago," Pascal said, not even looking up from his plate, where he was slicing his pumpkin pie into tiny neat squares before stabbing them with his fork. "And anyway, I wouldn't want to go even if she did."

"Um." Scorpius cleared his throat. "Am I in some kind of danger?"

Pascal looked up from his massacred food and grinned slyly. "You're always in danger, Malfoy." He speared a tiny segment of pumpkin and swallowed it. "You're to tell me everything my sister says to you. Understood?"

He nodded, and really wished he'd gone to Ravenclaw.

--

The party was held in a small storage room, not far from the Slytherin common room. Someone had gone to the effort of pushing all the mangy furniture against the walls and covering the worst of them with some sheets. Bats had been charmed down from the Great Hall, and they fluttered in panic among the cobwebs. The quidditch team was there, sprawled in a rough circle and they were drinking from a bottle of firewhisky. Craigson, a burly fourth year who played beater, bounced a knut on the ground and into a glass. There was laughter as the next person missed, and had to take a long swallow from the bottle. A few other students were also around, and there was a low buzz of chatter, the clink of glasses. Scorpius felt very small and out of place.

"Ah, you're here." Cleo shoved a glass into his hand and led him toward a filthy couch. "Sit here. I'll be back." Without giving him a second glance, she returned to the small crowd of students. There was a wireless balanced on a rickety chair, and classic rock blasted through the tinny speakers. The Weird Sisters, Scorpius even recognised the song; his father liked them.

Scorpius sat down tentatively and waited for the dust cloud to settle. He gripped his glass tighter. The pumpkin juice Cleo had handed him when he'd arrived tasted off, and he set it down after a few sips.

"Having fun, Malfoy?" Cleo had pulled away from the two older students she'd been talking to, and stalked over to him. She sat down next to him on the couch. "How's daddy dearest then?"

"Fine."

"Still in transportation?"

Scorpius was just vaguely aware of what his father did for a living, but that sounded familiar, so he nodded.

"Good." Cleo patted his knee. "The Zabinis and the Malfoys have always been friends, you know," she said, her voice sweet and rich as dessert cream.

"They have?" This was news to Scorpius. "My father never mentioned yours."

"Oh, they go way back." Her hand was still resting on his leg, and Scorpius inched away from her. He stopped when she dug her nails deep into the flesh of his thigh. He flinched. The sharpened nails had broken his skin. "In fact, my dad wanted you to know that we're keeping an eye on you – call it protection."

"Protection from what?"

"This and that," Cleo said, and flexed her hand, driving the nails deeper. Scorpius gritted his teeth, determined not to make any sound of pain. "You never know what might happen in Hogwarts, it can be a dangerous place, you know." She pulled her hand away, and Scorpius gasped in relief, then gritted his teeth. Cleo stood and stared down at him. "Tell daddy the Zabinis say hi," she said, and then turned and walked through the small crowd, who parted before her.

--

Draco unrolled his copy of the Prophet on his desk and set down his tea. Aiden Brock had made the tea, which meant it was Tetleys and in the wrong cup. It also had sugar. Seven years in this department, and Brock still couldn't remember that Draco didn't take sugar. Or it was deliberate, which was entirely possible. He let the tea get cold and scanned the headlines.

Every day since that visit from Potter, Draco had kept his ears and eyes open. The threat to the American Wizarding world had never been mentioned again, and Draco was beginning to wonder if he'd imagined reading it.

Across from him Aiden had settled behind his own desk and was industriously sorting through the morning's requests for Portus charms. Draco shuddered, it was – he glanced up at the clock on the wall - barely ten-thirty, and Brock was hard at work. Draco could stretch a fifteen minute tea-break into a good half-hour break if he wanted to, which he did. He flipped through the rest of the paper, scanning for any relevant news.

"Brock," he said, and the chubby wizard looked up from signing off a batch of scrolls. "You have relatives in America don't you?" Draco was sure he'd heard the man waffle on about it before.

"I do at that. An aunt married one of them. An American, I mean."

"Do you hear from them often?"

Brock leaned back and rested his hands on his prodigious belly. "Well, now that you mention it, not so much these days. Haven't had an owl from them in a while. Probably the Trans Atlantic Albatross service messing around again, it's not unusual." He shrugged. "Are you planning on leaving us for better climes?"

"No." Draco folded the paper and evanesco'd the tea. "The thought couldn't be further from my mind." He returned to his desk and eyed the mountain of paperwork glumly. "I've been hearing strange rumours about what happens to wizards in America."

"Oh that." Brock waved his hands, dismissing Draco's worries. "It's not true in the least. Some crack-pot muggle scientist there thought he'd discovered wizards, was talking about investigating bloodlines, that sort of thing."

"What happened to him?"

"Obliviated, naturally. Can't have that sort of thing floating around."

"No," Draco mused. "We can't." Something about the situation was still worrying him though. He sighed, he had more pressing things to worry about than what happened across the pond. He needed to sort out the last details of his parents' transfer. Scorpius hadn't owled back and that meant Draco was probably going to have to do something as horribly gauche as send the boy a howler just to get his attention. At least Mariet was up and about again, even if she was in a sulky mood and wanted to go to her mother's. Draco pushed the irritation away and pulled a file down, opening it to see which charms-impaired idiot needed a portkey, and when and why.

It wasn't a standard form, but an office memo.

Draco swallowed and got up to make himself a decent cup of tea, and made a point of not offering one to Brock.

The creation of all portkeys to the North American continent had just been summarily banned.

--

A/N - I do apologise for the delay in posting. Thanks for the reviews, they are all appreciated.


End file.
